Soul-mate's for life
by Written Rebellion
Summary: Dean was once an angel, but now he's a human whose just woken up in a coffin with no idea why an angel of the lord keeps staring at him like he wants to get insides Deans pants. The apple pie life is just not possible for the Winchester brothers...
1. Heavenly time

It wasn't unusual for angels to dance.

In fact angels usually used any excuse to hold grand celebrations with music, shared stories and of course - dancing.

But it was unusual for angels to dance with no cause or music to follow along to.

But there was two angels that didn't care if they were stared at. Two angels who discovered one another centuries before and instantly knew they were meant for one another. Two angels who were not afraid to show all of heaven just how much one meant to another.

It was rare for angels to find their soul mate, sometimes due to there being so many angels to begin with, but mostly because angels didn't touch others with their grace. Angels preferred their personal space, or enough room so that their wings didn't crash into others.

How these two angels found there true connection was purely accidentally. One angel had been careless and flying without caution. Usually angels were more careful, but due to this angels high rank as the General of the Archangel Michael, he was used to flying without restrictions.

The other angel was just that, an ordinary angel working his way to being a Seraph. He had just been denied the promotion of Seraph, he had time to spare before he needed to report back to his superior for his duties so he had decided to allow his mind to drift as he soared through Heaven. His senses came back sharply upon his collision with another angel.

They had clung to one another during their descent, trying in vain to gain their wits only to land in a heap on the ground. Instead of focusing on the pain of their wings, both angels instead felt their minds bewilderment at the electrifying sensation running through both of their graces from where they touched. It was definitely a sensation neither had ever felt before.

Of course due to their large gap of importance, they were separated and sent to different areas to be healed. If it wasn't for the General checking in on the other angel, still feeling that same sensation from the meeting of their grace, the lower ranked angel was sure he would be severely punished for the disturbance.

To anyone else, they might have thought an ordinary angel had no business being close to – let alone be the other half of – a General of one of the only angels to have seen God. To anyone else, they might have thought it was through guilt that the General pretended to feel such a strange sensation running through him as it was due to his comfortability with the knowledge he couldn't be touched that caused the crash, but then again...

Angels didn't lie.

Rumours had run through Heaven about both angels who really couldn't care less. Neither cared that they had such a large gap between their importance to Heaven. Neither cared about being stared at because of the unusualness of their relationship. Neither cared about the lack of music in their mid-air waltz which had a course of voices that could be heard both externally and through the link in all angels minds, connecting them all.

Both angels just laughed, gazing into the others bright coloured eyes which could only be seen when angels decided to use a physical form that could only be used in Heaven as it had the same effect on humans as seeing their pure grace unprotected.

One angel had the most amazingly sparkling blue eyes which matched the sky and sea of the earth.

The other angel had the most dazzling and glittering green eyes that matched the colour of the forests and lush grass lands of earth.

Both angels were complete opposites in almost every way, but they could both agree on one thing. They didn't know how they had lived for so long without the other, but since they met, they had no idea how to go a day without the other.

While the crowd of angels watched what they considered to be a spectacle, they didn't realise that once angels found their soul mate, certain perks arose.

Like the instant heal from just a touch – which came into use when they had both heavily damaged their wings upon meeting.

Or the instant knowledge of where the other was – no sensing or asking for the location of the other.

Or the perk currently passing between them was their own personal link – which no other angel could intrude on – which the blue-eyed angel was using to send a song he had created especially for his soul mate on his harp.

The green-eyed angel hated the harp, finding its sound to be too bland and unexciting. The other had spent months preparing a piece he was sure his mate would love, a present for their anniversary of their first meeting.

Another perk of finding a soul mate, one angel could feel the others genuine feelings.

It made the blue eyed angel beam with pride when he could feel just how much his song had touched the other, feeling his happiness and amazement. The green-eyed angel made a promise to learn his soul mates favourite pastime so he could return the favour.

So while the onlookers could only see two angels pressed closely to one another, smiling, laughing with love and adoration shining in their graces, the two angels held their own celebration. One they didn't want a large spectacle made from, not that one would be made.

It was private.

It was personal.

It was perfect.

Half a millennium together, both angels still acted like they were celebrating their very first anniversary, scratch that, they still acted like they had just fallen in love for the first time.

Neither angel felt intimidated or felt like they were better than the other. Neither cared about their onlookers. Neither cared about the public display of affection that may seem like a case of insanity as they followed a rhythm only they could hear.

Most importantly, neither _noticed_ two specific individuals watching them from a far, a prophecy only these two onlookers were aware of which would affect both of the dancing angels; one more than the other.

A prophecy which started to fall into place on the 24th January 1979.

* * *

 **Hello there! I'm presuming you've read the first chapter of my first _Supernatural_ fanfiction which I hoped you enjoyed! I only started watching Supernatural about two months ago and am only starting the sixth season, so if you have any suggestions, please avoid spoilers!**

 **I haven't written in a while...hopefully it doesn't show! I have written other stories, but I decided on a fresh fandom on a fresh account! :)**

 **Let me know if you have any ideas or suggestions for the rest of the story! I'm going to follow the canon version, with changes of course. The rest of the story is going to be from Deans POV, but I might throw in some 3rd person POV, Castiel and Sam POV or maybe some other peoples POV's! Let me know what you think!**

 **The next chapter will start between season three and four...so you can guess where it will begin!**

 **Till next time! :)**


	2. Hell of a time

**Warning: This chapter is based in hell, it describes some torture and small bits of blood and gore! You have been warned :) I was going to make this chapter a lot worse...but decided to focus on Dean rather than hell...**

* * *

Dean would admit he probably deserved to be in hell.

He had caused so much suffering in other people's lives – killing creatures which since the vegetarian vampire coven made him wonder if killing them was right, causing the deaths of humans who had become possessed by demons, the long list of girls he had meaningless and sentimental times with which he had left behind with barely an excuse told or nightmares of the true world in some cases, endangering lives of innocents that were near him when he was being hunted and being the reason his father sold his soul, leaving Dean with grim last words.

He had hoped his attempts to save lives would somehow balance out all of the bad he had done, but in the end, it didn't matter. He was still in hell, but not because of the damage he caused other people.

He had sold his own soul to save Sammy.

It was a trade he might have started to regret in his last few living days as part of the living, but if he had the chance to take back his soul, he would refuse if it meant Sam could live. How could he let his baby brother die? He had been looking out for the kid all his life, he would always be his little brother, a kid that needed to be looked out for.

But after forty years in hell...he should have been suffering. He still waited for every demon he had exorcised to find and torment him...instead he was... _enjoying_ his time in hell. The thought filled him with guilt, self-hatred and disgust for what he had done in his after-life.

Thirty years of suffering, being poked, prodded, stabbed, burned, sliced, carved, ripped up, chewed, pulled at, punched, kicked, sworn at, told horrible stories of his life and healed at the end of each day just to go through it all over again the next day.

Thirty years of suffering, of not being able to contain the blood curdling screams that would erupt from his throat, hearing the other demons take pleasure in his pain and everyday of sternly saying _no_ to another demonic offer.

 _You can come off the rack boy...only if you're willing to put souls on._

For thirty god damn years...he had held out, telling the demon – Alastair – to shove his offer where even hell fire couldn't reach...thirty damned years of being a piece of meat on a rack...

But he couldn't hold out any more.

Taking the demon up on his offer...he wasn't sure if he hated himself more for being too weak to continue saying no...or because he was starting to like it.

He shouldn't like it. He knew what those souls were going through, he had been in their position. He knew the pain being inflicted upon them. He understood the want for release, to use the pain to inflict on the inflicter. He understood...but he couldn't help his twisted desire to make each and every soul he tortured feel the same pain he had gone through.

He would rather put the demons that had tortured him on the rack, but that wasn't an option.

How long did it typically take for a soul to turn into a demon he would normally hunt? How much longer would it take him to finally forget his guilt and pain before he was hunted by other hunters...like Sam or Bobby...

He already sometimes forgot about the guilt and self-hatred when he tortured other souls. He became so...invested in causing the pain. His mentor – Alastair – had told him numerous times that once he stopped feeling empathy for the tortured souls, it would become easier. All he had to do was focus on his anger and his life would become so much easier.

But he wouldn't.

He had already gave in to one demons offer...he wouldn't let go of the only thing that still made him human. It may be futile, he may one day become the monster he had once hunted, but he would hold out for as long as possible. He didn't deserve to forget his guilt. He didn't deserve to be rewarded for torturing others.

He just...couldn't become one of those things.

The idea that he was already on the way to causing the souls he was torturing to becoming demons flitted through his mind every now and then, but even if he wasn't the one inflicting the pain, someone else would.

It was thoughts like that which caused him to freeze in his position. It was like he subconsciously tryied to ease his guilt.

 _If I don't do it, another demon would do it._

 _They're going to be tortured one way or another, may as well make do it quickly._

 _They're going to become demons one day, what's the point in delaying the inevitable?_

 _He was going to turn one day, soon he wouldn't remember what it was like to feel guilt or self-hatred._

Those thought caused anger to rise inside which led him to up his torture methods.

Maybe that was the cause of demons usually only operating on anger. It was the only emotion they had left from when they were human because it was the only thing they could feel.

Dean glared down at the knife in his hand...or what was considered a knife in hell. One side of it was much more sharper than any blade he had ever seen while the other was equally as sharp but jagged in shape like chunks had been removed. He knew it wasn't chipped from use, it was intentionally created that way. But he refused to use that side. He would only use the straight sharp side.

A claw like hand clamped down on his shoulder. Before hell, he might have used the weapon in his hand to fend off the owner of the claw, but he knew in this place, he would be punished by being put back on the rack...not that the knife would do much good. It was meant for torture on fresh souls, not for killing a demon that already felt a certain immunity to most tortures although he had confided in a variety of ways used to torture each and every demon in existence.

"Alastair." he greeted the demon, his voice emotionless and detached.

The demon still had his claw stuck into Deans shoulder, but stepped closer to Deans side so they were almost shoulder to shoulder.

"How's my favourite student doing?" Deans hand with the knife twitched as the mirth in the demons voice caused his anger to flare higher than before.

Dean watched the soul before him, stuck on a slab with hooks dug into its arms, shoulders, legs and throat. Too bad it was impossible to lose consciousness in hell. Dean had only received the soul a few moments before, but he had already made incisions in the souls body and poured hell fire into each deep cut.

Dean had learned a while ago to block out the screams, but it didn't help when he was one-on-one torturing a soul who was letting out whimpers. He wanted nothing better than to remove the hooks and tell the soul to run...but where could it run?

"You tell me." He replied just as blankly, keeping his eyes on the squirming soul before him.

Alastair removed his claw and stepped closer to the soul, inspecting his students work. He nodded in approval. "I like your use of the fire, very creative." the demon moved around the soul. "Your incisions are very precise, I can see right inside her veins."

 _Her?_

Deans gaze snapped from staring blankly at the soul to Alastair and back, finally noticing the soul as being a young female, possibly no older than eighteen.

He didn't notice anything about the souls appearance, just treating them like... _slabs of meat._

Holy crap!

He had refused to take notice of what souls looked like because he was afraid he wouldn't be able to carry out his job. He had treated them all the same, just wanting to finish his work and get it over with. He didn't even realise he had started seeing the souls like a demon would.

 _A piece of meat to be chopped up for pleasure._

The girl on the slab was obviously tall, but there was an athletic build to her as well. He wondered what she had done to end up in hell. Had she made a deal like him? Had she killed? Had she killed herself? One thing about hell was that there was no evidence of their death.

He remembered being shredded by a hell hound, yet the blood and scars on him came from the hooks he had been suspended from or from other tortured souls.

This girl looked like she had been in the prime of her life...well aside from the various cuts he had inflicted on her.

Her eyes were wide and watery – glistening grey eyes which had become bloodshot and puffy. Her brown hair was long, almost to her waist and wow was it a curly mess. Her physique...aside from looking athletic was very well put together. If he had met her in a bar- no, she looked eighteen, he shouldn't even be thinking like that especially as he was the reason she was in pain.

All souls wore the clothes they died in, this girl was wearing what looked like a sensible outfit for a eighteen year old with a body like that...how he missed her gender in the first place, he didn't know.

And he had cut into her flesh like she was a steak from a diner.

 _And here comes the fresh wave of guilt._

"If I had to make a suggestion, I'd have to say you should pour some fire down her pretty little throat." Alastair was grinning widely, a glint in his eye which Dean could only pinpoint as pride. "Stop all that screaming real nice." He leaned over the slab so the girl could only look at him. "You're making the other souls restless little girl."

The girl whimpered.

Due to the hook in her throat, he knew she couldn't speak. Screams and whimpers were the only noises she could make which most likely didn't help her pain...How her screams were audible, he didn't know...

"Pretty sure being in hell is making the other souls restless." Dean muttered, dragging his eyes away from the girl to glare at Alastair. He wasn't sure whether to take pride in the fact that he was in no way like Alastair or be disgusted by the fact the demon had taken pride in his work.

Alastair looked away from the girl also, meeting Deans glare. A smirk on his thin lips as humour lit up his eyes. "Well, well – aren't we in a good mood today." Alastair moved away from the girl, walking closer to Dean. "And here I thought all those rumours about your comedy were heavily overestimated."

Deans gaze didn't waver as the demon approached him. "What can I tell you? I'm a funny guy." Again the hand holding the knife twitched as the demon approached him, entering his personal space. "Is there a reason you're here?"

Alastair didn't usually observe him torture others. He usually came at the end of the day to tell Dean he could have a break before starting the torture process all over again or sometimes teach him a new method of torture.

"Now Dean, I thought we were friends." Alastair held his claw like hand to his chest, his expression of mock hurt. "and as friends, shouldn't we feel free to visit one another?"

"They do say the strongest friendships always start with one friend torturing the other for years." Dean wanted the bastard to leave, but at the same time, he didn't want to go back to torturing especially since he knew it was a human girl he was hurting...a girl that had a life, family and a future. He was really interested to know how the girl ended up in hell, but he knew better than to ask Alastair.

Even if the girl had sold her soul for something to do with her vanity or was a horrible person...knowing any detail about her life wouldn't make their session together any easier. It was easier to think she was a piece of meat.

 _It was easier to think like a demon._

Alastair threw his head back, laughter echoing around them. "Now there's the humour I was promised. Perhaps there's hope for you after all."

Alastair disappeared, probably to annoy another soul. Dean didn't want to know what he had meant by 'having hope', but he sure as...well, hell...better off not asking. Demons lied, even if Alastair saw him as a ' _friend'_ , there was no way he would ever tell Dean the truth.

Moving his gaze back to girl on the slab, his guilt started to exceed his anger. How could he even possibly torture her further? How could he allow her to turn into a demon?

But what choice had he?

He stepped closer to the girl, unsure of what to do next. He refused to take Alastair's suggestion of making her drink fire. Maybe if he hadn't actually seen her, he might have done just that, but he couldn't go near her face without meeting her pleading eyes, begging him to stop.

"I'm...I'm so sorry." he whispered, doubting she could hear over the roar and anguish of other souls passing them.

The girl tried to shake her head, but the hook in her throat made the movement impossible.

He was finished with the knife. He turned to his personnel table of torture weapons, looking for the least painful. Alastair wouldn't allow him to put the girl back on the rack to move onto the next soul. The girl wouldn't be considered tortured enough.

That was probably why Alastair stopped by. He had intentionally wanted Dean to acknowledge who he was torturing.

 _Boom._

Dean looked up at the large noise, his forty years in hell and he finally heard a new sound. The usual sounds consisted of screams, moans, begging, pleading and the manacle laughter of demons enjoying the sounds of their victims pain.

The laughter stopped abruptly at the sound of the explosion. The tortured souls still made their usual noises, probably not understanding the new sound.

 _Knock, Boom!_

The sound was getting louder and closer.

Dean moved away from the girl, completely entranced by the sound. He didn't know where it was coming from, since hell was literally a pit with different platforms attached and a conveyor like system holding all of the souls in the middle of the pit.

 _Boom-Shhhh-KA-BOOM!_

Dean lost his balance as the platform he stood on shook violently; blood, dust and what looked like centuries worth of guts spilling over the platforms above him.

He remained in the lying position on the platform, his eyes snapping towards the girl who couldn't move but he was sure some of the blood and guts had landed on her. He was about to get to his feet and get her out of range of being splattered with the insides of past souls, but another tremble made that impossible.

Then, for the first time since he became Hell's bitch, he saw light.

A blinding, painful light which was becoming impossibly even more brighter as it came closer to his level from above. Dean shielded his eyes from the light, although it was mainly from discomfort than anything else.

Forty years of being in a dark hole...well he wouldn't be bragging about having a tan any time soon. He was pretty sure he had lost his freckles in his years of being in the dark. He missed the sun, feeling the warmth of a natural ball of heat that held a lot of good memories from times he spent with his brother and father in parks or by lakes on hot summer days between hunts.

He heard something that almost sounded like wings flapping before a soft _thud_ sound barely a meter before him.

Slowly, he lowered his hand, the bright light was impossibly blinding...but he was somehow able to look past that to see the outline of a form with what looked like big ass wings.

In his life of hunting down the weird and dangerous, Dean had learned from a young age to never willingly go towards the unknown because it usually left you in pain or dead.

Yet he couldn't stop his hand that had been shielding his eyes from stretching out to the white light...feeling a foreign yet familiar feeling pulling him towards it.

In forty years, he hadn't been able to sleep. He figured it was because there was no need for the dead to actually sleep, but it was still a human thing he missed.

And the white light granted him unconsciousness.

Only for him to wake up in a tight space with next to no air.

* * *

 **I did a horrible job of writing Dean's point of view, but hopefully I'll get better! It might take a few chapters for me to be able to get into his mind set, I'm going to try and keep all characters in this story true to canon with some exceptions of course!**

 **If anyone has suggestions for future chapters, please let me know! I'll try my best to incorporate as many as possible! :)**

 **And I would also like to thank those of you already showing support for this story, hopefully I can improve or at least not fall below my standard of writing! As I mentioned before, I haven't written a story in a while, but I'm having fun with this story! :) Hopefully you are all enjoying it too! :)**

 **I also forgot to mention - which you all may or may not have gotton from the first chapter, description and the tag, but this will be a DESTIEL fanfiction, I'm unsure of any other pairings, I'm all up for SamXGabriel, BobbyXCrowley or other pairings (As long as they are characters from the fourth and fifth season or earlier as long as they are not already dead or...Ruby.**

 **So let me know! :)**

 **Till next time!**


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